


In The Dark Of The Night

by halcyon_autumn



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Attempted Kidnapping, Blood and Injury, F/M, I mean I'd say it's a meet cute but that doesn't feel quite right, Mostly Sylvain's jokes, Sexual Themes, Vampires, Violence, a meet cute but it's Faerghus so there's violence, inspired by Ingrid's paralogue if she didn't have her classmates to back her up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:35:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27320575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halcyon_autumn/pseuds/halcyon_autumn
Summary: Stupidly, the first thing Ingrid noticed was that he was well dressed. His dark trousers and thin white shirt belonged on a casually dressed gentleman, not someone stalking through the forest at night. His red hair was carefully styled, with no sweat to hint at exertion. Only the axe hanging from his belt seemed out of place with the image of a refined casually dressed lord prepared for a relaxing night in his castle. All in all, she wouldn’t have realized he was a vampire if not for the fresh blood staining his stark white shirt. That was a dead giveaway.Or, alternatively: Sylvain walks around thinking "I am a hot vampire man. I will rescue this woman, which is very sexy of me to do, and she will fall in love with me." Ingrid takes one look at him and thinks "I'm going to have to stab him, aren't I?"
Relationships: Ingrid Brandl Galatea/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 13
Kudos: 35





	In The Dark Of The Night

Ingrid Galatea was starting to think that she wasn’t going to make it. Despite her daily training and the fact that she regularly sparred with the future King of Faerghus and his right hand man, spending the night running through a forest had exhausted her. Her breath now came in short gasps, and she’d finally had to stop and lean against a withered tree to rest. Her embroidered silk dress was torn in dozens of places. She had picked it out for meeting a potential suitor, a wealthy merchant named Charles Thibault. She had  _ not _ expected to have to fight off a roomful of men, two of them her own guards turned traitor, while wearing it. And she sure as hell hadn’t planned to spend hours in a forest, fleeing Thibault’s own guards. The dress might have been manageable if her shoes weren’t equally impractical; they’d fallen to pieces after the first hour or so of the chase. Now she was stumbling through the underbrush, leaving an obvious trail of footprints and broken branches.

Her plan was to run until she reached the sprawling castle she’d spotted during her ride to the village that morning. Hopefully the Lord or Lady living there would give her sanctuary. It wasn’t a good plan, because it was the middle of the night and Ingrid barely knew which way the castle was. But Ingrid wasn’t exactly overburdened with options.

A victorious shout cut through the trees. One of Thibault’s men had spotted her, and even as she picked up speed Ingrid could tell he would catch up to her in under a minute. So instead she grabbed for her dagger and took a fighting stance. This was as good a place to make a stand as any. It would have been better if she hadn’t lost her sword during the fight back in town, but she’d have to make due. 

“Now,” the man said as he approached her. His hand reached for the sword at his belt. “Stop causing so many problems. Just come along, and this doesn’t have to get nasty.”

Ingrid grinned at him, a joyless expression that was mostly teeth, and brandished her dagger.

The man drew his sword, but Ingrid could see that his grip was wrong, his stance unbalanced. She had better training, and the Daphnel Crest burned inside of her. A three on one battle didn’t favor her, but she wasn’t done for yet.

Sure enough, his first swing was too wide. She waited until the last moment, then darted in and slashed at his side. Her Crest didn’t flare like she hoped, but she still left a jagged red cut along his ribs.

“Shit!” The man yelled, stumbling away from her. For a moment hope burned in her chest – then vanished like a blown candle flame as two more men emerged from the trees.

“More trouble than she’s worth,” one of the men grumbled as they approached, weapons out. Ingrid didn’t waste any precious breath on a retort. She’d need to kill them quickly, before reinforcements showed up.The only reason she was still on her feet was the power of the Crest in her blood, and there were at least another four men out there. Seven on one would be impossible, Crest or no. 

The first man swept at her and she leapt backwards, balanced perfectly despite the uneven ground. She took a moment to mentally thank Felix for insisting on sparring on different types of terrain, then settled into a defensive stance. The second man swiped at her, not quite close enough to draw blood but enough that Ingrid was forced backward. Then the first slashed again, a few inches away.

They were herding her, she realized, and from the corner of her eye she saw the third man circle around behind her. She and her crested blood were so  _ valuable  _ that they were being overly cautious. It wouldn’t last long, especially if she killed one of them, but for now it was an advantage to exploit. 

She feinted left, then launched herself right, straight towards one of the men. Her crest flared and Ingrid sliced across the man’s collarbone, the dagger biting deep. He didn’t really counterstrike, just wave his sword towards her and stumble back. She was grimly satisfied to note that his tunic was rapidly turning red.

One of the men tried to force her backwards again, but Ingrid dodged and slipped past him, breaking out of the triangle that her pursuers had formed. Even better, she scored a short slash down his back as she passed. It was shallow, but it was something, and Ingrid was already lined up for another strike -

Something bit into the back of her leg. Ingrid nearly screamed, but instead grunted and dropped to the ground. A fourth man had stepped out of the woods. He looked at the rest of his party while Ingrid grabbed at the wound on her leg and tried not to cry. “What? She was fighting circles around you. And she can still pop out Crested kids with a scar on her leg, so Thibault won’t care.” 

Ingrid tried to grab her dropped dagger, but one of the men kicked it out of reach. She glared at him, hating how helpless she felt. The leg wound  _ hurt,  _ and losing any blood only made her weaker. And now, even if she did manage to slip past these four, she’d be leaving a blood trail behind. They would find her again.

“As long as we still get paid,” one of the men grumbled. Ingrid could see him pulling out a length of rope. She scrambled for a stick or a stone, something she could use as a weapon. “Someone slap a bandage on that leg. I don’t want her bleeding all over me, fancy crested blood or not.”

Her breath came in short gasps as one of the men approached her. They were going to drag her back to town, and then she’d be trapped. Her life seemed to narrow before her, dreams and possibilities collapsing as she watched.

From somewhere in the woods, a scream tore apart the night.

Her kidnappers paused, and then one of them went paler than the crescent moon above them. “How close are we to the castle?”

“Shit,” said another. He tried to grab Ingrid’s arm, but she dug her nails into his hand hard enough that she felt blood. His shriek of pain gave her some small satisfaction.

“Girl,” he snarled. “We’re your best option. If that thing – ”

“Hardly a good way to woo a lady.” The new voice was smooth and low, and Ingrid couldn’t tell where it was coming from. She scanned the trees, feeling like her chest would crack from the force of her heartbeat. Everyone else swirled towards the forest encircling them, brandishing weapons and exchanging terrified looks. Maybe she could use this distraction to run. She’d rather die at the hands of whoever was out there than risk be forced into marriage. But as she tried to pull herself to her feet, she saw him.

How had no one mentioned there was a vampire living in these woods?

Stupidly, the first thing she noticed was that he was well dressed. His dark trousers and thin white shirt belonged on a casually dressed gentleman, not someone stalking through the forest at night. His red hair was carefully styled, with no sweat to hint at exertion. Only the axe hanging from his belt seemed out of place with the image of a refined casually dressed lord prepared for a relaxing night in his castle. All in all, she wouldn’t have realized he was a vampire if not for the fresh blood staining his stark white shirt. That was a dead giveaway.

He  _ winked  _ when he noticed her staring, as though they were friends sharing an inside joke at a ball. He was probably enjoying her terror. “I take it you were not looking for me when you entered my lands?” He asked, head tilted to the side. His tone was pleasant, but Ingrid couldn’t look away from the blood on his shirt. It probably belonged to some of Thibault’s guards. 

“No,” one of the men said. His voice shook. “No, it’s just a misunderstanding. I’m sorry, my Lord. We didn’t mean to come anywhere near your castle. We’ll leave with the girl.”

The vampire’s expression didn’t change. “No, you won’t,” he said, his voice still polite. “You seem like you’d be terrible hosts. You’ve got her running around in the forest in the dead of night, for starters.”

“Don’t talk about me like I’m not here,” Ingrid said, because she might die but she certainly wasn’t going to let herself be condescended to.

He bowed to her, just slightly. “Of course. My apologies. Let me make it up to you.”

The only word for what happened next was a massacre. 

The vampire descended on the first of the men, sliding his axe out and burying it into his back in one smooth motion. The second man managed to swing his sword, screaming to the Goddess all the while. It seemed the Goddess wasn’t listening, because the vampire batted the sword away with his axe before closing the distance and sinking fangs into the man’s neck.

The man struggled at first, trying to claw uselessly at his attacker’s face. But as his skin paled, so did his will to fight. Ingrid watched his head roll back, his muscles relaxing from sheer weakness. He whimpered, a tiny, human sound that made Ingrid flinch. It couldn’t have been long, but time seemed to stretch, squeezing an eternity into a mere minute as Ingrid watched the man go paler and paler. When the vampire dropped him, he fell to the ground, eyes glazed, and didn’t get back up. 

The vampire wiped his mouth, then turned towards her. “It’s delightful to meet you, my Lady. Just give me a moment, and I’ll take care of the other two.”

Ingrid opened her mouth, but nothing came out. As she watched, the vampire turned and seemed to disappear in the direction that the other two had run. She could still hear them faintly, two men crashing through the undergrowth and crying out for help. Abruptly, two voices became one.

She allowed herself ten precious seconds to panic before pulling herself together. if she wanted to live the night, then she needed to be calm and practical. She grabbed her dropped dagger first. Ignoring her shaking hand, she cut off a long strip of the dead, drained man’s shirt and wrapped it around her bleeding leg. His weapon was plain, but it was better than what she had now, so she sheathed her measly dagger and pulled the sword out of his limp hand. 

Somewhere in the distance, a man was begging. As Ingrid listened, his pleas cut off with the squelching sound of an axe in his back. She bit her lip and stared hard at the moon, trying to muster the strength to run. The chances of her surviving the night were low, but she was damned if she was going to sit and wait for a vampire to suck her dry. 

She’d only made it a few shaky meters before the vampire emerged from the shadows. There was more blood splattered on his shirt, and a streak across his cheek. Apparently he was a messy eater. “Sorry for that unpleasantness,” he said. “I would certainly have preferred to meet you under better circumstances.” He bowed again. From this angle, she could see that his back was stained with blood as well. “Lord Sylvain Gautier. And who do I have the pleasure of rescuing?”

“Ingrid Brandl Galatea,” she said after a moment. She knew he was probably lying about rescuing her - he’d probably attack her too as soon as he was hungry again - but it was hard to keep herself from hoping that maybe, just maybe, he was telling the truth.

The vampire – Sylvain – leaning forward and took her hand. She flinched and tried to pull back until she realized he wasn’t dragging her in reach of his fangs as she’d expected. Instead, he pressed a kiss to her knuckles and looked her in the eye. “A genuine pleasure,” he said. “Why were those men chasing you?”

She swallowed. Sylvain still hadn’t let go of her hand. “I was meeting with a potential suitor,” she told him. “He decided he was going to marry me, and didn’t much care about my feelings on the matter. I fought my way out, but he sent men after me when I tried to escape.”

It was a very minor point in the grand scheme of things, but Ingrid didn’t love that Sylvain had just watched her spectacularly lose a fight to several barely trained men. It was a bit of an off night. 

“What an absolute scoundrel,” Sylvain said, finally releasing her hand. “Would you like me to take care of him for you?”

The way he was looking at her was disconcerting. “Thank you,” she said, “but I would prefer to handle him myself.” She wanted the satisfaction of dueling him, beating him, and dragging him off to be tried and probably killed. Faerghus had laws about trying to kidnap women and force them into marriage. Even Rufus, the current unimpressive regent would come down hard on someone for something like this.

“Beautiful and skilled,” Sylvain said, and Ingrid stiffened. She knew that tone. She’d heard it at balls and galas for years, from men who wanted to court her purely for the Crest she bore. Sylvain probably didn’t care as much about her crest, but he still wanted something from her. “Lady Galatea, could I offer you a bed and a warm fire?”

From the way his voice deepened a little, Ingrid suspected that he was offering his bed specifically. “Thank you for the rescue. But I can manage on my own.” She could not manage on her own, not with the temperature still dropping, but letting a vampire sweep her away into the night to drink her dry seemed even less appealing than freezing to death.

Sylvain didn’t seem put off. “You’d be perfectly safe with me,” he assured her. “I swear it. I won’t lay a finger on you – unless you want me to, of course.”

Ah. They’d moved from subtext to, well, text. No one had blatantly tried to proposition her since Dimitri’s twenty-first birthday party. A drunken nephew of Count Rowe had made a comment about how if she was so good at riding pegasi, she must be good at riding other things, and perhaps she’d like to give him a demonstration. She’d challenged him to a duel on the spot. Felix had told her later it was the best party he’d ever been to.

“If you lay a finger on me, I will cut it off,” Ingrid told him, trying to put as much steel into her voice as she could. She could only imagine how pathetic she looked, with her tangled hair and torn, bloody dress. The chill of the night was creeping in, and soon she’d be shivering, which would make her even less intimidating. “Listen, as much as I appreciate your help, don’t think for one moment that I’m going to sleep with you out of gratitude. Or at all.”

Sylvain stepped back, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I understand. Can’t blame a man for offering though. Especially for a girl as pretty as you.”

“Does that offer work on a lot of young women?” Ingrid asked, wishing her teeth weren’t chattering. If it wasn’t below freezing yet, it would be soon.

Sylvain shrugged. “More often than not. Never thought it would fail me after I heroically rescued a woman from kidnappers, but there’s a first time for everything.” He offered her his hand. “Truly, I have no interest in hurting you. And besides, I’ve never had a hard time finding women willing to spend the night in my bed. Nor is it hard to find women  _ delighted  _ to let me drink their blood. ”

“Willingly?” Ingrid asked with a raised eyebrow. 

“Very willingly.” Sylvain grinned. “Most specifically request it, actually. Not into biting, Lady Galatea? I know I’m biased, but it’s  _ absolutely _ worth a try.”

“Don’t call me that,” Ingrid snapped, because telling people what to do always made her feel a bit better.

“Ingrid, then.” Sylvain tilted his head, and she immediately regretted telling him to use her name. “So when I offer you a place to recover, it truly is from the goodness of my heart. And besides,” he said, glancing at the pale corpse behind her, “I’m quite full.”

Her heartbeat was thudding in her ears, so loud she wondered if Sylvain could hear it. “Fine,” she said. “I - fine. I’ll need to send a letter to my father, informing him of my whereabouts.”

“Of course.”

“He’ll probably come here as soon as he knows where I am.”

Sylvain spread his arms wide. “He’s welcome in my home. And if you recover from that leg wound before he reaches you, I’ll even lend you a horse for your journey home.”

What other option did she have? Should she drag her bleeding body back to the village, only to be captured again? Spend the night in the forest, wounded and hungry? Try to make it to the next village on foot? She hated to admit it, but this looked like her only option.

“F-ffine,” she told him. Her teeth had started to chatter. “B-bbbut I’m hanging onto this s-ssword.”

Sylvain smiled, something marginally more genuine than what Ingrid had seen before. It did make him look attractive, which annoyed her. “If you’d like, Lady Galatea, I’ll find you a much better sword to threaten me with when we reach the castle.”

“I would like that,” she told him stiffly. He laughed, which was not the effect that she’d hoped for. But when he offered his hand she took it, though her other hand didn’t leave the hilt of her sword.

Unfortunately her legs gave out after a few minutes. The combination of her injury and sheer exhaustion overwhelmed her, especially when combined with the pain from running barefoot for hours. Sylvain noticed and quite literally swept her off her feet, into his annoyingly strong arms.

“I can walk,” she told him, though she wasn’t sure she could. She couldn’t help curling up a little tighter, trying to conserve her own body heat.

He raised an eyebrow at her. “You can walk there barefoot if you really want to, but it’s going to be miserable.”

Her feet hurt so, so very much. “Alright,” she told him, trying not to fully lean into his chest. Something there was sticky and wet, and it took her a moment to realize that it was her would-be kidnapper’s blood. 

The castle was old. It was far larger than Castle Galatea, which was barely a castle at all, and nearly as impressive as the Fraldarius keep. This place had been something grand once, with flying buttresses and enormous arched windows that must have cost a fortune to fill with glass. But she could see crumbling masonry wherever she looked, and vines clawed their way up the stone walls. Gnarled tree roots had cracked the path up to the front door. The entire place was falling into disrepair.

Sylvain had to set her down to open the doors. When she tried to stand on her own, her leg muscles felt as if she’d lit them on fire. Trying to move only made it worse. At this rate, she might be too sore to even walk in the morning. 

“Are you alright?” Sylvain asked. Ingrid didn’t answer; she’d closed her eyes against the pain. “Ingrid, what’s wrong?”

“Hurts,” Ingrid admitted through clenched teeth. She clenched her fists as a multitude of pains competing for her attention. Now that she was within walking distance of a bed, everything crashed into her. “Hurts a lot.” She regretted the words as soon as she said them. The last thing she wanted to do was admit to weakness, no matter how obvious it was that she was in pain.

Ingrid flinched when she felt Sylvain’s hand on her shoulder. “I’m going to carry you inside,” he said gently, “because I don’t think you can walk. Also, you’ve got a cut on your leg, and I don’t want blood on my floor.”

“Fine,” she said, and let him pick her up again. He sounded genuine. She hoped he was genuine. 

The castle foyer was rather beautiful. Expensive tapestries covered the walls, depicting figures from Faerghus’ distant past. A lush carpet ran the length of the foyer, and above them a chandelier glowed softly with a gentle golden light. Even Ingrid, who had spent her childhood running around the Blaiddyd manor, was impressed. The chandelier had to be magical, and the price of such a work alone could feed a family in Galatea for a year.

Sylvain carried her up a flight of stairs and down a hallway, passing more tapestries and fancy rugs and several rather severe looking portraits of his redheaded ancestors. She tried to take mental notes in case she needed to escape on her own. Left at the painting of the archer with a deeply impractical hat. Left again by the tapestry of the rising moon. Right by the door with a carving of a peacock. Whoever had decorated this place had a flair for melodrama.

The room Sylvain took her to was nicer than her room back home, with a soft carpet, intricately embroidered curtains, and an ornately carved fireplace. He started to set her on an enormous four poster bed, but Ingrid winced as she realized exactly how covered in sweat and mud she was. “Wait, this bedding looks nice. I don’t want to ruin them.”

“There’s a way for me to make a joke about how there’s much more enjoyable ways for us to ruin this bedding, and in fact this bed,” Sylvain told her. “And I’m not making that joke, which I for one think I deserve credit for.”

“Telling me about a joke you  _ could _ make is the same as making it,” Ingrid said. She bit her lip, because she was pretty sure those were silk sheets. “I don’t want to ruin your things.”

Sylvain raised an eyebrow at her. “I don’t care,” he said. “I’m always delighted to ruin something in the Gautier family castle.”

There was a bitterness to the words that seemed more genuine than anything else he’d said that night. Well, other than offering to bed her. That had seemed plenty genuine too. “Alright,” Ingrid said. She was still uneasy about putting her bloody, mud covered body on something so nice, but she was also exhausted.

“Please let me know if you need anything,” Sylvain said as she settled onto the bed. “I try to make Castle Gautier as hospital as possible.”

“Thank you,” Ingrid said, then paused. “I...appreciate your help, back there. I should have said something sooner.”

Sylvain smiled. “It was my pleasure.”

Ingrid thought about the man he’d sucked dry and the red still staining Sylvain’s shirt. She wasn’t stupid enough to ask which part, specifically, had been so pleasurable. 

Sylvain must have realized the directions that her thoughts had gone. “Once again, I have to reiterate that you’re perfectly safe here.”

“You’ll forgive me if I’m a bit suspicious,” Ingrid said. “I have nothing except your word.”

“I look forward to proving how trustworthy I am.” Sylvain bowed one final time. Ingrid still hadn’t decided if it was meant to be mocking or genuine. “Have a good night, Ingrid. I’ll see you in the morning.”

The moment he left the door, Ingrid collapsed against the bed. As she dragged the covers up over her body, she had to admit that Sylvain had been a rather decent host. He’d accepted that she wouldn’t be sleeping with him with more grace than several human men she could name. He had saved her life and asked nothing in return. And there had been that moment of bitterness when he spoke about his family that felt true, even human. 

It still wasn’t safe to let her guard down, but she was curious. She wouldn’t be able to leave until her leg healed. If her instincts were right, there was someone worth knowing under the layers and layers of performance that she’d seen tonight. Tomorrow, she promised herself as she drifted to sleep. There would be time. She’d learn more tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Halloween for *checks watch* eleven more minutes!
> 
> Much thanks to the Sylvgrid and Felannie servers for being very encouraging about this story. I desperately want to write more of this au, but I also have no good ideas for what happens next , so you see the dilemma. For now I'm going to consider it one chapter long and completed.
> 
> Follow me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/halcyon_autumn) for more writing updates and rambling thoughts about Fire Emblem.


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